Author's Note:
Hi everyone. I'm sorry it's been so long for an update on this story. And I'm sorry this one is so short. Real life intervened. I'm working on the next chapter, but I wanted to get something posted in the meantime.
I hope you're still curious!
Thanks for reading.
Chapter 10
Hotch was in the same position, on the floor, against the wall, when Watley and Grant walked back into the room, moments later. He barely heard them, but he did register their return. He was replaying the video in his head. Those images were burned in now. He'd never shake them. For the rest of his life, he'd see Emily being tortured. In a foreign city, far away from anyone who cared about her. Far away from him. What happened after the video cut off? What did that man do with the cattle prod next? Hotch wanted to know. No. Not wanted, needed. He needed to know. He needed to be able to finish out the story in his head because his mind had filled in the gaps already. He needed to know if Emily's story finished out like it had in his head. Because if it did, Hotch was going to get bloody before this thing was all over. He swore he would. If she did, he would.
"So what do you think Hotchner?" Watley asked. "Still a believer?"
Hotch didn't respond. Truth be told, he didn't hear the man speak. He was trying to blot out those images of Emily bloody and beaten with memories of her happy, being silly; memories before she had left. But these new images kept crowding out the good ones.
"You think she's good for it?" Watley asked? "Cause if I were her, having gone through that, I'd want payback."
If you went through what she did, Hotch thought, you'd be on the floor calling for your mother and wetting yourself you little toad.
"It's only natural," Watley soothed, falsely. "The problem is, Hotchner, your girl has a tendency to take things too far."
No she doesn't, Hotch thought, Emily takes things exactly as far as warranted. Sometimes in terms of feudal justice, he allowed. But. Extenuating circumstances. Hotch would not, he would not, agree with Watley in any sense of the word.
"What about you, Hotchner?" Watley was gearing up, "After seeing that… After watching Emily the way you just saw her. Being hurt. Crying. Screaming. Helpless. In pain. What about you? Do you want revenge?"
Damn right I do, thought Hotch.
"Cause if you do, your window's closing." Watley was pressing in on him. "The walls are starting to move in. Around you and around her. Pretty soon, you're gonna be trapped. Just like she is. She just doesn't know it yet."
Hotch could feel his nails cutting into the flesh of his hands all over again.
"Agent Hotchner?" This time it was Grant who spoke. He had been watching the interchange, such as it was, between Watley and Hotch. Hotch's lack of overt reaction worried him. "Are you okay? I know that was rough. I'm sorry we had to show it to you. Without preparing you."
Hotch didn't move. He wasn't looking at the other agent. He was staring off in the other direction, drawing some connections. "What was the utility of showing it to me at all?" he asked, in a voice as cold as steel.
Grant didn't miss a beat, he was eyeing Hotch carefully, as if he were a threat, an animal preparing to strike. "To see your reaction."
Hotch nodded, still not looking at the two men. "And did I live up to your expectations? I sincerely hope you enjoyed the show." Still with a cold monotone voice that gave away nothing.
"Agent Hotchner," Grant began, "It wasn't like that."
Watley chuckled. For him, at least, it was like that. At least partially.
Hotch slowly turned his head to Grant and Watley. They were watching him very closely. Both of them. "Then what was it like? You were looking for something specific. Did you see it?"
"Yes," Grant said simply. He watched Hotch for another moment before relaxing the tension in his body. He gestured to Watley, and the two of them righted the table Hotch had flipped.
Hotch watched them clean up the mess he made. But still, he didn't move from his place on the floor. He was making more connections in his head. He needed to test a theory. "Agent Grant," he asked, "is Declan Doyle really missing?"
Grant looked up from the broken tablet he was holding. He looked long and hard at Hotch, as if trying to gauge the extent to which the other agent had put the pieces together. Hotch stared back just as relentlessly. At last, he answered, "Maybe."
"Meaning?" Hotch prompted.
Grant cleared his throat. "He disappeared from his boarding school on a sketchy permission slip from his "mother." It was solid enough for the school. Only since Agent Prentiss disappeared, the timeline doesn't fit." Grant shook his head, "but in all eventuality, it's likely that she had someone pick him up and take him somewhere she deemed safe. There were no signs of struggle and there's video footage of Declan leaving the school grounds with a man. The kid didn't seem concerned. We probably don't need to be either."
"You just wanted to know how much I knew already?" Hotch surmised.
"Yes," Grant said simply.
Hotch gave a half smile, "well played." He stood up. "And the videos?"
"We need to know how much of a hindrance you'll be. How much of a help?" Grant stated. He was just throwing it out there. Waiting to see what Hotch does with the comment.
Hotch's eyes hardened. His hands balled into fists. He would not be on the team that was hunting her, hurting her. That was for damn sure.
Before Hotch could respond though, the door opened. "Stand down, Agent Hotchner. We don't need any blood spilled in this room."
Senator Cramer had made his entrance.
TBC